Barcelona Notes

This is a rough, soon to be filled-in sketch of my time in Barcelona. Rapid-fire notes so I don't forget too much. Come back for a few more details, and proper sentence structure, in a week or two. :)

SATURDAY, MARCH 26

• EPIC BANKING – back and forth to three different Royal bank of Scotland branches. The main one was gorgeous, (thank goodness for one redeeming factor – they were no help, but their ceiling was astoundingly beautiful) (mental note to self – go back with a camera) and useless, but I got it sorted in the end.
• Lovely Indian dinner at Red Fort, our new favorite. So much curry.
• We attempted to go dancing. Clubs closed. Slightly disappointed at the failure. I decided to pack instead.
• I realized that Ryanair really means it when they say one bag. This means no “personal item” – my purse and computer bag also have to fit in my duffle. Brief dispair.
• Later-I had ice cream and Belle and Sebastian with Karen. Angsting to Mom via skype. Still despairing.
• Still later – I accepted that I do not need my sleeping bag, reluctantly removed said security blanket from my duffle, and can fit other, more important things. Like my computer. And my wallet. Finish the icecream. Despair over, replaced by mild anxiety.

SUNDAY, MARCH 27

• Pack all morning, except for a brief visit to the ATM and a hostel – Theo is a month too young, darn it all. Steely determination to overcome my own stress, planning for the summer, then packing completed.
• Pie for lunch, with Alice and Karen!
• Airlink bus to the airport. It was really interesting to see the outskirts of Edinburgh, the way city blends with suburd, and how different (and similar) those suburbs are to our own in the states.
• Ryanair security line for 40 minutes. A total pain. Easy in the end however.
• Somehow I managed to let my stamped boarding pass fall into the trash slot when I threw away my water bottle, after it was checked but before going through security. Looked incredibly sketchy fishing around, making faces with one arm all the way inside the trash bin, up to the armpit. Got it out eventually, and only got a few odd looks. Did not die of shame. This was a success.
• Had to walk out of the airport building, across the tarmac and up a very wobbly, very creaky set of stairs which felt as though they were going to pitch me over backwards at any minute to get into the plane. Sat next to a lovely American girl, a University of Edinburgh exchange student as well, who was also going to Barcelona for her break, and had a lovely chat. Anxiety starting to wear off.
• ARRIVED. OH MY.
• Bus, then taxi to the hostel. Anne was not there yet, waited around for a while, upstairs in our room, then later downstairs. The anxiety was starting to return when I discovered that our room had a balcony, and I pulled the curtain aside, tugged the sliding glass door a little wider, and all anxiety fell away as I stepped out into the night. The hostel is on a broad sandstone terrace, bright and sunwashed in the day and glowing softly golden at night, full of palm-trees, pigeons, street musicians, and the scent of flowers and cigarettes. The edges were lined with tables full of restaurant patrons laughing loudly over their late dinners, and two different groups were playing music. A collection of kapoira dancers were flipping and kicking in one corner, surrounded by a group of admirers, and an accordion player in another area sauntered behind the rose- and glowstick-vendors hopefully pushing their wares at potential customers who lounged at the fountain’s base. Some of my fellow hostel-goers in a different room had bought a thing of bubble mix, and the bubbles wafted up past the sandstone balcony where I lent then rose to get lost among the brilliant stars. I braced myself against the heavy wrought-iron railing, and breathed deep, feeling as though I was breathing in Spain just a little with every breath.
• Anne arrived; massive amounts of hugging and I’m-so-sorry-where-were-you and no-I-am-sorry-where-were-you? And then we set to drinking and catching up and reminiscing, and the night got infinitely better. We met our roommates – two Brazilian girls, one of whom spoke a little English and a lot of Spanish, so we muddled through with some Spanglish and managed to communicate fairly well. My Spanish no es muerto! Puedo comunicar mucho mejor que pensé sería posible! Y puedo intentar más! He tenido conversaciones más o menos functionados totalmente en Español!  Ah. Makes me so happy. The girls were lovely, of course, totally gorgeous and very sweet.
• Anne’s friend Greg, a Sophomore at Stanford and a total sweetheart, exhibited his relative youth and inexperience by getting totally smashed then getting sick. On our bed. And in our hall. Despite the fact that he does not stay here. Mopped with paper towels, real towels, sawdust and a broom, (when he heard, the Janitor said, - Es su amigo, no voy a limpiar right before he  handed me the sawdust) put Greg into a taxi, no longer felt like going out and went for a wander instead. Got catcalled a bit more than Anne was comfortable with, though mostly it just made me laugh. We also had pushy vendors trying to sell us roses, beer, flashing lights and noise makers, with varying levels of respect for espacio personal and of persistence. The beauty of the place made up for the pushiness though.
• Listened to one of our roommates, Jackie, a Berkeley student, gripe about one of the cute Hostel workers and the skinniness of Spanish women (true, but it doesn’t stop them from being gorgeous) before drifting off.
• Slept. Finally.

MONDAY, MARCH 28

• Woke up in time for breakfast – green apples, a little on the soft side, delicious aromatic mint tea, swiftly soggy cereal and baguettes both with butter and jam and also with baloney. Missed having water - thank goodness the tap water in Scotland is delicious, but now I am so spoiled! I am used to being able to drink from the tap. It's perfectly safe is Barcelona, but... not at all tasty. 
• Anne went back to sleep for a little while, and I showered (pressing the water button on every 25 seconds, trying not to freeze or be scalded in the changeable temperature) then we went for a walk.
• BARCELONA IS GORGEOUS. Words simply fail me. I cannot appropriately describe the beauty of it. Sunshine on worn sandstone facades and broad patios, alleys so narrow that the moisture dripping from the fern- and ivy-covered balconies lingers on golden flags for hours without the sun, statues of titanic proportions and equal beauty, capitols and moldings curling in intricate spirals and florets, flowers everywhere, wide ambling boulevards lined with barely-leafing sycamores and restaurant tables, street artists and musicians and vendors all convinced that your experience of the city will not be complete unless you have paid them, artartart everywhere! Then there is the ocean, cradled by the massive docks and the rocky outcroppings on either end of the bay, and the cathedrals, tall and ancient and crusted with carvings and decorations, and the churches, and the ROMAN WALL which we walked past (oh my goodness gracious. I touched something that was shaped and hewn and placed not just centuries but MILLENNIUMS ago. Just about died with nerd-happy-overload). I was in a state of overwhelmed euphoria. 
• We went to a market, which was also beautiful, and also absolutely overwhelming. Stalls literally overflowing with anything and everything you could ever want to eat were crammed next to each other and were crowded by tons of shouting, waving, bag-toting shoppers, and we passed piles of fruits, of chocolates, of nuts, of candies, of peppers, of fish and meats and breads until our heads were spinning. It was kind of like the best farmers' markets you have ever been to, but multiplied by about ten, and as full as every farmer has ever wished their market would be. We eventually purchased baguettes and chorizo, and a flat of divine strawberries - the kind that melt in your mouth and would probably be bad in another day so it's a darn good thing you are eating them now and heaven can not possibly taste this good - !
• Walked with our food to the docks, and sat in the sun and basked, looking at the Mediterranean Ocean. Amazing.
• Toured the city for a few hours - past a cathedral, and up and down alleys. They would be called closes or wynds in Edinburgh, but there they would not be full of balconies, and the stones would be grey rather than a lazy, laconic sandy-gold.
• Siestas. They are wonderful.
• Had dinner at the hostel - baguette (again - going to turn into a baguette!) and an absolutely delicious stew: chorizo and garbanzo beans in a spicy red sauce, served by a very nice Irishman with pretty eyes and amazing cheekbones.
• People in Barcelona are all secretly zombies. Or vampires. Or simply nocturnal. The club took a group of people out, every night, with cover paid (AMAZING, since cover at clubs is something approaching 10 euros - bleeeaagh) but they did not leave the hostel until 1:45 am. ...!!!! The clubs themselves did not close until somewhere around 4 or 5 am. THIS IS MAD. First night, went to a club called Shoko, with questionable music, large bamboo stalks on the floor, and not enough people dancing. But it was quite literally on the beach, and a reasonable walk home - it took us about 35 minutes, but in the warm Barcelona night that was merely a pleasant period in which to sober up. Went to bed later, but pretty pleased with our experience. 

TUESDAY, MARCH 29

• Somehow, someway, we made it to breakfast by ten. Lots of tea happened, and lots of slow chewing of bread, and general disbelief that we were awake and at least nominally functional. 
• Braved the metro station, which turned out to be quite simple really, and made it to Parc Güell, and marvelled at Gaudi's genius. Really, the man was a wonder. Gaudi originally constructed Parc Güell with the intention of it being an upper class residential area, an apartment complex for wealthy Barcelonians with a keen appreciation for aesthetics. It was never realized, however – in part because of the distance from the city center (laughable today, thanks to the metro, but a significant way to go, back in the early 20^th century) and in part because there was not enough financial backing or interest, I believe. However, what does exist is stunningly beautiful. I had hazy memories of Senior year Architecture with Mr. Seigerson, and remembered squinting hard at the slightly discolored, blurry slides. Even then it was clear that this was a place, and an artist, far out of the ordinary. The real thing was absolutely amazing. There were columns and arches that leaned in casual grace from walkway to walkway, crusted with deceptively organic-looking rocks and clay whose natural appearance belied the meticulous attention to detail that must have gone into their construction. The undulating wall, sparkling with brilliant tiles and flanked by carvings and statues, was at once a thing of beauty and function; the day we were there it was hot enough that the bench was nigh invisible, hidden by hundreds of weary legs as people flocked over to take in the views and to find a seat simultaneously. The buildings twisted up out of their roots like growing things, looking like some mad hybrid of the colored turrets of the Hagia Sofia and the cottage that so tempted Hansel and Gretel, with tile and glass and swelling stone. If ever there was a true union of art and architecture, I think it must be found in Gaudi’s work, since not only is it beautiful and interesting, but it also incorporates nature: the structures in the park enhance rather than dominate the arid, mountainous landscape, and compliment it in shape and color.
• Because one bit of Gaudi was definitely not enough, we went next to the Sagrada Familia, which was absolutely beyond words. The cathedral is unfinished, and won’t be completed for at least another 25 years – and it was begun early in the 20^th century as well. More than 100 years on one building, and who knows how many architects and craftsmen as well. Apparently many retiring architects of the highest caliber like to contribute to the Sagrada as their swan song, meaning that the structure, though still adhering to Gaudi’s basic design, evidences the incredible efforts of many different artists. It is literally impossible for me to do it justice but I will try.

            The largest façade of the church faces the north, and that is the one which was immediately visible as we approached. This was also the only outer façade that was wholly Gaudi’s work. It is a celebration of life, centered around the nativity, and is literally an explosion of art and creativity and beauty. Every inch of the massive face of the building was blooming, growing, nearly breathing with detailed carvings of every type of plant and animal imaginable, so that even the angels and Madonnas paled in comparison, overwhelmed by the palms beneath which they reclined or the oxen, chickens and even turkeys which clustered about their feet. The two columns on either side of the door rested upon the backs of two massive carved turtles, one an aquatic one (on the ocean-side of the door) and one a land-crawling tortoise (on the side of the building which faces the mountains). Any one sculpture would have been lovely and impressive in its own right; when viewed together it was an incredible, overwhelming outburst of gorgeous detail.

The details on the west-facing side that I walked around were similar in style to the sculptures on the front, with gargoyles in the shape of lizards, openmouthed to spit the rain from between their teeth in bad weather, and with walls inscribed with graceful letters. Around the south side, however, the artist and consequently the style changed utterly. If the north was a celebration of nativity, the south, centered around images of the passion and the crucifixion, was a glorification of the starkness of life, and pain, and death, and bare angles sharply shown. The faces of the disciples were square, anguished, and as expressive of their stony nature as were the rib-like columns arching nakedly. It was shocking, in contrast with the lush loveliness of the opposite façade, but strangely beautiful in its own way.

Inside, the cathedral was flooded with light. Stained and unstained glass windows set shafts of sunlight streaming in wide swaths across walls and floors, and the pale grey stone and impossibly high ceilings helped fill the space with cool light. The columns branched like trees, limbs forming geometric patterns against the facetted ceiling, shades of grey and silver and sometimes gold overlapping in complicated shapes like stars, flowers, gemstones. The spiral staircases the curled upwards looked like sealife made large, shaped like shells or coral, the nautilus-sweep of the stair visible through round perforations in the rails. The golden canopy over the altar was bedecked with glass ornaments, grapes and leaves and talks of grain, and within the space of white and soft grey the brilliant yellow seemed almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Everything about the Sagrada demands that you look up, following the columns in their assent or the windows in their glory, or the light to its skylight source. My psych professor last semester talked about looking up during our discussion of moods in Distress, Dysfunction and Disorder last semester. “I have a project for you,” she said, and instructed us to try walking for a few minutes some time soon, with our eyes on the ground four or five feet ahead, steps short and a little slow. “Don’t smile,” she added - forget smiling, we discovered, walking like that made us want to frown. She next told us to lengthen our stride, to walk with purpose and intention, “And look up, or out into the distance,” she added. The difference was palpable. I could actually feel my spirits rising with my gaze. Since then, looking up has become an intentional thing for me, a way of being present to the moment and to the beauty that surrounds me, be it in the form of tree tops, Edinburghian chimneys against the grey sky, decorative balconies and sculptures, or the incredible heights of an unfinished cathedral, a century in the making. As choir music wafted down from the loft galleries, and as I walked, washed with the colors of the glass windows, it was as close as I have come to a religious experience in quite a while.

• After the high of the Sagrada, Anne and I discovered we were starving, and got pitas at a nearby pita shop after walking the rest of the way back to the hostel. Skyped with Teddi, and wished she were there to join our trio, as she usually does.
• Long siesta, once again. Thank goodness.
• Slept through dinner. Went to a cheap but decent little restaurant around the corner for tapas – patatas bravas, tortilla Española, y ensalada verde. Fueron muy buenos.
• We returned to the hostel, and ended up playing cards with a few of the other residents, including an Argentinian and an fellow from Portugal. Went out dancing, again on the beach, again lots of fun, until we lost each other. Mild worry led to rather serious worry led to very serious concern led to not-quite-panic. But, I learned that I can report someone missing in Spanish, and can deal with a bit of a crisis without completely losing my head, even if I do tend to mildly overreact. Better safe than sorry I suppose. Friend found at long last, we went to sleep somewhere around 6:30 am, and slept until noon.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 30

• We were rather less than functional the next day, but somehow ended up have a truly glorious time anyway. We got pitas again (so tasty) and sat in the courtyard to eat them. Watched the tourists and the vendors and the pigeons, and laughed at the little boy frying to feed/chases them (who ate the bread he was trying to entice them with off the ground eventually). We ended up at the beach, flopped out on the sand with our jeans rolled up to our knees and the sun on our faces, and got very good at turning down masseuses and vendors of all sorts, and at ignoring a rather adventuresome nudist who refused to stay put on his towel but seemed instead determined to share his nudity with the rest of us, wandering further and further up the beach, wholly unconcerned.
• SUNBURN
• We napped for a while, then got an absolutely delicious dinner: paella, with both seafood and chicken (I ate the shrimp with the antennas and the eyes. It was mildly distressing, but so, SO good) and then a plate of grilled asparagus, which tasted particularly lovely after not enough vegetables in days, and because we were treating ourselves, we also each got a glass of rather lovely wine. It was all mouthwateringly good. The only problem was that the restaurant was playing club music – Katy Perry, Lady Gaga, Taio Cruz, etc. – and the flirtatious waiters were dancing as they poured our drinks and served our food (and also as they crumpled up the napkins, receipts and trash and tossed them over their shoulders onto the floor beneath the tables. Considering this was a rather nice place, this was more fascinating than distressing, and also simply quite silly looking). This meant that by the time we left, we were both bobbing our heads and thinking fondly of dancing. The only problem was that we had a bus to catch at 7 the next morning, and we were not 100% sure how to get there, meaning we would need a couple of hours to wake up and pack and get ourselves to the station. So, we decided that it would be almost easier to just stay up, considering we had been virtually nocturnal for the last few days anyway, and subsecuently had a wonderful night out, followed by a sleepy morning packing and metro-ing, and a very, very exhausting 6.5 hour bus ride to lovely San Sebastian in the north of Spain.

San Sebastian up next. :)